


Catalyst

by JennLynn77



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apologies, Bed Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Important Conversation, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock Roulette, Johnlock freeform, Lots of dialogue, Love Confessions, Loving Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post S4 TFP, Post-Canon, Sleeping Together, Smut, Top John Watson, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, realistic first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennLynn77/pseuds/JennLynn77
Summary: It takes a new friend of John's to make him realise how much he loves Sherlock.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am American, so all mistakes in Americanisms-Britishisms are my own. I have no beta, so every mistake is mine. (Even after I ran Grammarly.) If something is glaring, distracting, or completely wrong, please tell me. (Kindly.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! If you do, please press kudos. If you really liked it, I'd love a comment! If you bookmark, I love you!!!

**Catalyst**

 

**Sherlock’s POV**

Her name is Cara and I hate her. 

I’ve never actually laid my eyes on her in person, but I hate her despite how ridiculous I know I sound. 

John met her four months ago, when she began working at the surgery they both now work at. She’s a nurse practitioner and works alongside John most days they’re scheduled during the same shifts. I may or may not have visited the website of the surgery to see what she looked like. Dark hair, light brown eyes. A bit olive-complected. Difficult to discern her height and weight from a photo, I suppose. John says she looks a bit like someone named Catherine Zeta-Jones. She seems pleasant-looking enough. Women aren’t my area, you see. 

John speaks of her quite often. Her ex-partner turned out to not be right for her for the long-term. At least he wasn’t an internationally-wanted assassin. At least she and John didn’t have THAT to bond over as well.

She’s a single mother to a five-year-old boy named Hamish. (That was how they began, whatever it is that they are. Coincidences apparently lead to romance.) She’s a year older than John, according to her bio on the website; forty-nine to John’s forty-eight. He’s told me they have a lot in common. They became parents, unexpectedly, later in life. Rosamund is now two and has apparently taken a liking to Hamish, as they’ve all spent a bit of time together on something called ‘play-dates’. I wish her father and Hamish’s mother were only ‘play-dating’. 

Neither Cara or Hamish has ever been by our flat. I suppose John is wary of bringing her near me, as I have a tendency to assist in their disappearance from his life. The fact that they’ve been socialising for almost three months is not only disconcerting, but also very worrisome. It shouldn’t be, though. Ever since John and Rosamund returned to Baker Street, I’ve always known that this would happen. That a woman would happen. That someone better than me would appear and John would realise what a fool’s errand he’s been on for so many years. He thinks he's been following behind me all this time. He has no idea that he's been leading us since our beginning.

My winning streak of days without seeing or meeting them came to an abrupt end. Cara brought Hamish by our flat one afternoon, on a day I thought I’d have John and Rosamund to myself. I heard Mrs Hudson let someone in from outside and I heard unfamiliar footsteps on the stairs to the flat alongside Mrs Hudson’s. One set sounded particularly lighter than those accompanying her. 

“Hoo, hoo!” Mrs Hudson cooed from the hallway side of our flat’s door. She tapped on the door three times. I ignored her. I heard her key turning in the lock. I’d temporarily forgotten she was our landlady and had her own keys. I’ve always felt she was closer to being a mother to me than a landlady. She’s also always been more than a housekeeper, but don’t tell her that. I very much enjoy her protestations to ever stop her saying them.

“You boys have a visitor! She says she’s a friend of John’s?” I stayed statue-like on my chair, re-closed my eyes and repositioned my fingertips against my lips. At the utterance of his name, John appeared, Rosamund on his left hip, in the entryway connecting the kitchen and the sitting room. 

“You’re early! We weren’t expecting you for another twenty minutes!” John exclaimed as he approached Cara, as she held tightly to Hamish’s little hand. She appeared nervous to me, even though I still hadn’t actually seen her.

“We made the earlier tube time! It was a shock to me, as well! This little man was ready to go as soon as I told him where we were headed! He couldn’t wait to see Rosie!” Cara tugged gently on Hamish’s right hand and he moved to hide behind his mother’s left leg. He was bashful for some reason, and it was most likely my fault. At the mention of her name, Rosie immediately perked up.

“Cawa! Haaaamiiish!” She squirmed in John’s grasp until he relented and set her down. She toddled over to the pair and threw her arms around Hamish and the children giggled and squeezed each other in delight. Hamish got a little carried away and they toppled to the floor, unaware that they would most likely have begun to cry if they weren’t so very happy. I understood that emotion more than I wish I did. 

“Guess what, Rose? Hamish and Cara are here and we’re going to the park for the afternoon!” As John spoke, he made eye contact with Cara who then hazarded a glance toward me. Just because my eyes were closed doesn’t mean I couldn’t see them. How else would I be able to relay this story, after all? I’d also be a rubbish detective if I wasn’t able to see everything in front of me. 

Both of the kids let out a simultaneous “YAAAAAAAAAAAY!” at that newest bit of information. I pretended to be oblivious, hoping that I would be able to maintain plausible deniability when John wanted to discuss how attractive he thought Cara was. 

“Sherlock?”

_ Just keep your eyes closed. Keep still. _

“Sherlock? I know you can hear me. Even when you’re in there, or pretending to be in there, you always hear me.”

_ Why did I tell him that? I might be the only consulting detective in the world, but I always reveal too much to John. I’ve known him for almost a decade, and I never learn. _

I opened my eyes with reluctance and met Cara’s gaze immediately.

Cara smiled at me. 

“Cara? Hamish? This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes.” Hamish waved timidly from the floor where he’d settled with Rosamund.

I kept my face carefully neutral, even though my heart was trying to exit my chest cavity. And so beginneth the end. 

“We have company, Sherlock. Stop being a twat and say hello to Cara and Hamish.”

“John, if she knows who you are, she knows who I am.”

“Quite right. I just thought that maybe you’d try not being an arsehole, and say hello to someone I like enough to bring here.”

_ Ouch. _

“It’s all right, John. Sherlock looks like he’s busy in his mind castle or whatever it was you said he called it. I don't want to interrupt him if he’s about to solve a case! Don’t want that on my conscience!” Her laugh came out a bit more confidently than I’d expected. I don’t usually inspire such a haughty display. 

I rolled my eyes. Mind castle. John could do so much better. 

As condescendingly as I was able, I said: “Greetings. Welcome to 221B Baker Street. I’m Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective. Thank you for visiting OUR humble dwelling.” I brought my knees up to my chin and folded my arms across my shins. John’s head tipped forward towards his chest and he shook his head.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue to head out! Let’s go, kiddos!”

Hamish and Rosamund scrambled from the floor and went to their respective parents, while also managing to keep hold of each other’s hands. 

Cara had the audacity to wave and bid me a pleasant afternoon. The nerve. I waved my hand carelessly at her vicinity, thoroughly dismissing her. John shook his head again as he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the door to the stairs, their children standing in front of them, looking all like the happy family they were turning out to be. They left me there without another word. 


	2. Chapter 2

**John’s POV**

“I am so sorry, Cara. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” I found a table for us to set our things on while the kids sprinted for the swing set. I set down the cool box with the sandwiches I’d brought for all of us. Hamish has a peanut allergy, and it was just easier to bring something along rather than find a place kid-friendly for our afternoon out.

“I have a pretty good idea what’s eating at him.” Cara unwrapped the egg on white bread with a raised eyebrow.

“What are you on about?” I asked, a bit befuddled as I took a rather large bite from my ham on brown bread. I’m trying to be a bit healthier. Coming up on fifty soon enough.

Cara swiped at the corner of her mouth with a serviette, a bit of mayonnaise on her lower lip. “Are you being intentionally obtuse?” Her eyes grew wide as she held her sandwich in between us and pointed it in my general direction.

“You sound like him.”

“Maybe that’s why he hates me so much.”

I nearly choked on my sandwich. I patted my chest with gusto to try to dislodge the chunk of sandwich from my windpipe. “He doesn’t hate you.” I spluttered.

“Oh, John. That display back at the flat? That was a man who was trying to keep secret the fact that he’s bloody terrified. And he was absolutely horrid in his attempt.”

“Sherlock’s not afraid of you.”

“I didn’t say he was. It’s this situation he’s scared of.”

“Am I in a situation and am completely unaware of it?” Sherlock would most likely have agreed with my assessment.

“For a doctor, and former Army Captain, not to mention partner to a genius, you’re an idiot.” Cara set her remaining sandwich on the cling film it had been wrapped in and settled me with a look. A look that said there was a lot more to be said about it.

“Now you really sound like him.”

“You’re just fuelling this, John. That man back there? He loves you.” She gestured behind herself with her right thumb.

“I know he does. I love him, too. Very much in fact.”

“Is he aware of that?”

“I should hope so. I told him several years ago when I asked him to be best man at my wedding to Mary.”

Cara’s very lovely eyes rolled towards her forehead. “Yikes.”

“What?”

“That was the first time you told the man you loved him? In the same sentence when you were asking him to help you get married?”

“I tried to tell him a few years before that, but he put me off a bit.”

Cara inhaled a long breath through her nose, appearing to be deciding on something. She exhaled it quickly through her mouth. “If I remind you so much of Sherlock, and you’re straight, why don’t you fancy me?”

“I do fancy you.” Objectively, at any rate.

“Not like that. I know you like me, but you don’t LIKE me.”

I tossed my own serviette onto the picnic table with a bit more force than I’d intended. “What is happening? Have we time-travelled back to sixth-form?”

“Don’t make me have someone pass you a note with ‘Do You Like Me’ and underneath, a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to circle and have it passed back to me.”

I could only gape at her. When I woke up that morning, I had no idea this conversation was going to happen, or I’d have had a list of excuses prepared.

“I’m not a twit, John. I know I’m a good-looking bird. I’ve had plenty of people tell me so. But not you. You tell me how much I remind you of Sherlock. I see it a bit. I also have my own eyes, and the blind would be able to tell that Sherlock is more than fit. He’s downright gorgeous. And I know that you know that.”

I felt like my face was giving the game away, but she’d taken me by such surprise, I couldn’t rebuff her in the slightest.

“That dark hair; those pale greenish eyes. Or are they blue? They could even be grey. He’s just. Wow. I feel sorry for your sexuality crisis.”

“And what the flaming Christ does that mean?”

“Interesting choice of words, by the way. You’re obviously bi-sexual. It’s all over you.”

I leant away from her, my back bowing over my own arse. “You’re full of shit.

“We can smell it on each other, John. Gaydar is a thing. Or in this case, Bi-dar.” Cara leant forward, her left elbow settling on the table, her left thumb under her chin and her index finger at her eyebrow. Smugness all over her face. Her beautiful face. But when I looked at her, I didn’t get that swoopy feeling I’d normally get with someone I’m falling for. I only get that feeling for one person.

“What?”

“Surely you’ve figured it out.”

“Figured out what exactly?” I felt like a piece of the conversation was had while I wasn’t sitting at the table, but I didn’t remember having an out-of-body experience, or leaving the table since I’d sat down.

“Remember when you told me how I resemble Catherine Zeta-Jones?”

“How could I forget?” Cara does have beautiful eyes. But they’re not the prettiest I’ve ever seen.

“As I recall, I nodded and smiled, and then licked my lips. There may or may not have been a sound that resembled, ‘Oooh.’”

“Have I missed something?”

“In my brain that day, after you’d said that, I’d forgotten how hot I found her and was instantly flattered by your assessment of me.”

“You what?” If I’d have leant any further back, I would’ve landed on the grass behind me.

“Hot. She’s hot.”

“You’re?”

“Yes, John. Remember I said that I have Bi-dar? What else could I have possibly meant?”

I shook my head no, but all I could hear in my head was _You missed it. You always miss the important bits._  “But. You were married. To a man.”

“Yes, thanks for the reminder. I was married to Brad for eleven years. Sometimes, the person you’re supposed to be with doesn’t fit with your pattern. Before Brad, I’d only ever really been with women. You fall for a person, not a gender. I’d only dated one man before I met Brad, but when I met him, it was instant. I knew that he was going to be someone who was going to be important to me for the rest of my life. Even though we’re not together anymore, he’s still my son’s father, and I love him very much. And I always will. Just not that way, now. We’ve made peace with it.”

A sudden shot of empathy ascended my spine and settled at the base of my skull, a headache trying to fester itself into existence. I wished that Mary and I could’ve reached that level of maturity instead of me stooping to an emotional affair and the two of us constantly sniping at each other before she died.

I leant forward this time. “I told you that my wife died, right?”

“You mentioned it. I didn’t want to push. I figured you’d tell me if you could. Someday.” Cara moved her hand from underneath her chin and crossed her arms on the table between us.

I wasn’t sure how much I should tell her, so I only mentioned the important stuff, minus the gun.

“She did something to Sherlock, and I don’t think I’ve ever really forgiven her for it. He landed in hospital not very long after he’d come home. I’d just gotten him back and he was in hospital because of my wife. She almost killed him, and I’d almost lost him, AGAIN. I could barely look at her, and she was pregnant with our daughter! We’d just been married. She knew how much he’d meant to me before we’d met and she knew how utterly overjoyed I was to have him be resurrected. And she tried to take him away from me anyway!”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She was. Until he came back. Everything seemed so great. I had Mary, I’d gotten Sherlock back. I found out I was going to be a father. I should’ve known better.’

“Sounds to me like she could see it, too.”

“See what?”

“That affection you have for him. The ease you two have with one another. I read your blog. I listen when you talk about him at work; which is a helluva lot, by the way. And even in that short interaction I just witnessed today, Mary would’ve had to have been blind to not see what you both mean to the other.”

I shook my head again. Had to keep denying. “He’s my best friend, Cara.”

“I know he is. And you’re his. But today? What I saw? That wasn’t just two mates who like hanging out with one another. You two? That’s some next-level shit.”

“Jesus Christ, Cara.”

“Oh, leave him out of it! Your blog is the biggest indicator. As soon as I realised you were THAT John Watson, I read your blog, more than once. It’s obvious, John.”

I could literally only sigh to that. Constant denial is exhausting. “You’re not the only to have ever said this to me.”

“What do others say?”

“Our landlady? Mrs Hudson? The evening I met Sherlock at the flat to see it for the first time? She insinuated that we might not realise there was an additional bedroom upstairs.”

It was a good thing Cara’d finished her sandwich because she’d have probably choked on a piece of it.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Fucking hilarious.”

“What did Sherlock have to say about that?”

I tilted my head to the left and looked up at the sky. And then the scene in question materialised.

“Nothing. He said nothing.” I could only stare at her across the table.

“No rebuttal?”

“Nope.”

"Well. That says a lot, doesn’t it?”

_Holy shit._

**_Sherlock always replies. To everything; he’s Mister Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word._ **

“Oh no. You’ve just realised it, haven’t you?”

How do you tell someone that the biggest mystery of your life has just worked itself out so simplistically on a picnic bench in Regent’s Park?

As it turns out, I didn’t even have to say anything. There was a reason why she reminded me so much of him.

“You need to tell him, John. That poor man thinks you don’t love him the way he loves you. He’s just seen us walk out of his flat looking like a statistical example of a nuclear family. He’s got to be terrified of what he’d just seen.”

“It’s not the first time he’s seen me around a woman.” I couldn’t stop shaking my head or the words from coming out of my mouth. That was the closest I’d ever been to telling someone how I feel for Sherlock.

“But he’s not seen you with me. I have a child. You know what they say about people who date who have children. When the kids are involved with the new ‘friend’... Today was the first time I’ve been by your flat. Sherlock’s a genius. I’m assuming you’ve mentioned me before?”

“Of course! You and Hamish are a frequent topic of conversation.”

“How does he usually respond to that?”

“With his typical Sherlockian sass. Or nonchalance. Or silence, like he’s not heard me. None of those things are atypical for him.”

“Were his reactions to Hamish and me stopping by today any different than normal?”

My shoulders sagged and I brought my hands to my head. I tipped my head forward and grasped at my hair. Cara should be a therapist instead of a nurse practitioner. Or both. She should be both.

“He just sat on his chair and stayed quiet.”

“Is that normal?”

“He usually goes into his Mind Palace when he’s trying to work something out. We’ve no case on right now. So either he went in there to get some quiet, or he wanted me to think he was in there.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To avoid something that was bothering him.”

“Come on, John. You’re almost there.” Cara was leading me to a place I’d been so desperate to go. I just needed someone to tell me it was okay.

“The way he was sat on his chair… He only ever brings his knees up like that when he’s upset. Anxious or angry.”

“Or sad?”

“Oh my God.”

“John, I haven’t known you for very long, and I know virtually nothing about Sherlock. But what I have seen or intuited here, I can only say it looks to be one of the most ridiculous tropes that usually only exist in shitty rom-coms. Mutual pining, but, in this movie, each person thinks the other doesn’t love them back.”

“Cara, I don’t know what to do.”

“You go home and you talk to him.”

“Would you mind…?”

She should be a detective. She can practically read my mind. “No worries. I can bring Rosie to my house and she and Hamish can hang out a bit. Maybe a sleepover if things go well with you and Sherlock.”

“I think I’m going to just stay here a bit. Enjoy the sun and watch Rose playing. Work out some things and figure out how I’m going to say it.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I’m going to tell him that I love him and that I know he loves me too.” For the first time since the conversation started, I felt my spine straighten. I hadn’t felt that sort of determination in a very long time.

She reached across the table and set a hand atop one of my own. I turned my palm and held her hand and she squeezed my fingers. “That is a fantastic place to start.”


	3. Chapter 3

John would’ve been beyond furious if he’d known I’d followed him to Regent’s Park. I hid behind a tree so Rosamund wouldn’t see me and give away my position. She was quite engrossed in her activities with Hamish. It also seemed that John was just as captivated by Hamish’s mother. It must run in their family.

A family of which Rosamund and John would most likely soon be apart. When I’d seen them clasp hands across the table, I’d turned around and made my way home. No need for unequivocal evidence when my own deductions would have sufficed. 

He returned to the flat two hours later, which was earlier than I’d expected. I didn’t hear Rosamund’s lighter footsteps or her laughter. I was lying on my back across the length of our sofa, my right arm across my eyes and the fingertips of my left hand scratching across the carpet. I’d been deleting and reorganising my Mind Palace while I waited for John to return home. If John decided to grant me my last wish, I’d need all the available space I could locate in my Mind Palace.

“Hey! At least you’ve moved off your chair since I’ve been gone!”

I could hear the rustling of John’s coat as he removed it, then he gave it a shake and hung it on our coat rack. 

“Rosie’s going to hang out with Cara and Hamish for a bit, maybe even a sleepover if things go well. What do you want for supper tonight? I’d like a takeaway, but I’m treating. What would you like?”

He seemed rather upbeat. But I wasn’t in the same headspace.

“If you’re paying, you should choose.”

“I’d also like to have a chat with you over dinner. We have anything on tonight? Anything from Lestrade or Molly?”

I inhaled a jittery breath. I knew what John wanted to speak to me about.

“John? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you as well.”

“Oh?”

“I think it may be the same thing you wish to talk to me about this evening, and I’d quite like to get to it rather than have time to further ruminate over it.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’re going to be talking about the same thing AT ALL, but you can go first if you’d like.

“Would you please sit?”

“Sure!” John walked towards me and the sofa instead of his chair. “Budge over!”

I was so stunned by his sudden proximity, my limbs robotically did as he’d requested. He sat down beside me and turned to face me.

John tilted his head with concern. “What’s up? Everything all right?”

His eyes. I was going to miss seeing them every day after he was gone.

“John, I. I know that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Cara and her son lately…”

Before I could continue, John interjected: “She’s really great! Hamish is such a sweet little boy!”

I forced myself to continue. The conversation was going to be difficult enough to have without John’s interruptions with obvious statements. “I’m very pleased that you’ve found someone that makes you so happy. Rosamund seems to be quite fond of them both as well.”

“She is indeed! Rose and Hamish act as though they’re related or something! It’s wonderful to see them play together! Next time we all go to the park, you should come along! I’m sure Cara would love to get to know you a bit better and you’d love to see Rosie so happy!”

He was not making the discussion I needed to have with him any easier.

“John? I have a request of you.”

“Sure!” John had finally noticed my reticence. “What’s the matter? Something wrong?”

Nothing was wrong yet. He just had to wait for me to continue. And continue I did.

“I should think you’d want to discuss this with Cara before you’d give me a final answer, assuming you were willing to accommodate me in the first place. I don’t want to come between you both. I’ve done enough of that in your past relationships.”

John’s head quirked at that. 

“I would like to have a romantic encounter with you before you advance in your relationship with Cara. Unless you already have and I haven’t deduced it.”

I’d never seen that look on John’s face before that moment. He didn’t seem at all surprised at my request.” 

“Well, it seems we were closer to being on the same page than you thought we were, Sherlock.” 

“Pardon me?” My eyes narrowed. 

“I’ve just spent most of this afternoon in the park talking to Cara about how much I love you. Turns out she’s bisexual as well and we had a conversation about how we’d figured out that aspect of our sexualities.” 

I shook my head side-to-side, the disbelief plain on my face. “You’re not gay. You’ve said that. Many times.”

John replied a bit tersely, “I’m not.” John had found the admission to be a little more daunting in my presence than it had been in Cara’s. 

“But you just said…”

“I just said… I’m telling you now, that I’m bisexual. Not the same as gay.”

“You’ve made it utterly clear to anyone willing to listen that you’re not like that.”

He shuffled along the cushion beside me until our knees touched. He reached for my hand, and I think it was at that point, that my heart had stopped beating. 

“I want to say so much to you right now. But the first thing? I want to apologise for every time I denied what other people saw when they looked at us.”

I couldn’t breathe. At that moment, I’d have been grateful for a reappearance of my previously lethargic heart. All I could do was sit beside him and let myself feel my hand in his; his thumb dragging sweetly across my knuckles, grounding me to this moment. An instance I’d never let myself entertain, even during my darkest thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I can’t imagine how all of my rebuttals and refusals made you feel.”

I brought my other hand to our joined grasp. I took a hearty breath that I didn’t think I’d been capable of at the time. 

“No one apologises to me.”

“Get used to it. I owe you so many.”

“I don’t know what it feels like to be truly loved. But I think I might be beginning to understand it.”

“Stop trying to put me off! You’ve been loved by me since we met, Sherlock. I’m so sorry you didn’t know that before now.” There were tears in his eyes and they’d had nothing to do with Mary. That had been the only other time I’d seen John Watson cry. His unabashed emotional countenance inspired me to speak my emotional truth to him:

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you. Not before I knew you, and not since I’ve known you. And when you’re gone, I know that I’m never going to have this chance again. I see a bit of you in everyone I see. But everyone I meet still won’t be you.”

“Whoa! I’m not going anywhere! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” I disentangled our hands and hurled myself against him. 

“Oh, Sherlock! Come here!” He pulled me tight to himself and I let out an embarrassing noise that must’ve been a gasp. 

I spoke against his neck: ‘I saw you. I followed you and I saw you with her. You looked so happy there with her and Rosamund and Hamish. You looked like a family!” I pushed my nose against his shoulder.

“Oh no! Have you been thinking about this all afternoon?” I could only nod against the softness of his jumper.

“This conversation seems to be going tits-up. I’m bollocksing this up completely.”

I sat back and willed him to meet my gaze. “The fact that you’re trying to say it at all means more to me than how you say it. I never thought we would be like this. Be this to each other, and I’m unsure with how to process all of this.”

“How about we just sit here together?” The softness of his smile calmed me instantly. 

“Would it be all right if I hugged you, John?

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” 

I encircled him in my arms and wept against his chest as his own tears fell into my hair. I’d never felt such an all-encompassing joy in all of my years until that moment. 

*********************************************************

We held each other on the sofa for close to an hour. John’s left hand had been making continuous circles across and down my back for almost the entirety of that hour. At almost the same time, we released each other, and we laughed. It was reminiscent of the giggling during our first case. I hadn’t heard John laugh like that for such a long time. During the last year, even though John and Rosamund have been living with me, I’d felt that there were some things that were lingering over all of us. Things that weren’t said that seemed to follow us around the flat and our daily lives like a blackened cloud filled with rain, just waiting to burst over our heads. 

John sat back a bit, seemingly to get a better look at my face. What he saw then had been unrepentant elation. He recognised it immediately and his left hand caressed my cheek as he spoke:

“I want you to know, I saw the way you reacted to Archie hugging you during the wedding photos. You were perplexed that someone would want to do that; Put their arms around you and be affectionate. During your speech, I just couldn’t help myself. I was sitting next to my wife, and all I wanted to do was hold  **you** and tell you that I loved you. You told me, for the first time, that you loved me. The things you said that day… I just want you to know, going forward, if you want anything like that from me, just ask. Please ask. Or just tell me. I’m good at following orders!”

“Christ, John.”

“I know, Sherlock. I feel like I’m floating over us and seeing a dream.” He hauled me back into his embrace and I let him. I would let him do literally anything he wanted.

“I barely survived when you died.” He pressed his lips to my hair and pushed his nose against the top of my skull inhaling my scent. 

“I barely survived while I watched you live.” He held me tighter.

“I'm so sorry. I think I was angry with you when you came back. You just swanned right back in and didn’t seem to notice you’d just kicked my life right off its axis.”

“I just wanted to be in your life. After you forgave me, I told myself to just do what needed to be done to keep you in my life. So, I forgave the punches and the head-butt and just got on with things. I learned how to fold serviettes so you would stay here. Serviettes, John.”

John leant back and he placed his hands on my shoulders. “You shouldn’t have just forgiven me for all that.”

“You’ve forgiven me for things worse than that,” I countered.

“Have I?”

“Have you not? Forgiven me?” Apparently, it was time to poke the black cloud and see if we would swim or drown. 

John sensed what was happening. “Most days, yes. Others? When I wake up covered in my own sweat and tears? Lying in my own urine? No. Not on those days. Not the days when I wake up and am reeling from a nightmare where I got to see you fall from a roof and hear your bones break all over again. Not those days, Sherlock.” I hung my head in shame. It happened so long ago but I still felt terrible for causing him so much pain. I lifted my head again and placed my hands on his sides and squeeze

“I sometimes see the scar on my eyebrow and wonder if you’d actually have killed me. Sometimes, when I think that way, I find it hard to breathe and then I think back to your foot cracking my ribs. But instead of being angry with you, I get mad at myself for putting you through all of the things that I have. And then I feel grateful that you’re back here, that you’ve brought Rosamund into the home of a junkie and have trusted in me enough to let me help you raise her. If that’s what you’re actually doing here. With me.”

John’s eyes were about to spill. He kissed the scar in question. “Wow. We’re really doing this, aren’t we? Jesus Christ. This has been a day.” He kissed it three times in quick succession.

“I will work every day, to try to make up for that day. For all the days I hurt you. From the denials of my feelings for you to the physical reminders of the horrible ways I’ve treated you. That day was the last time. Never again, Sherlock. I will never hurt you, with intent, ever again.”

“I know that, John. You’re a good man.”

“I haven’t been. And that shit is over.” 

“I believe you, John.” I kissed his forehead and his tears finally slipped from his eyes. 

“On my happiest days with Mary, I still thought of you.” His tears fell harder, then. “I missed you every day you were gone. Even after she was gone, I missed you more than I missed her, and she was dead.” 

“I love you, Sherlock. I’m saying it for real. No clever wording, no bullshit. I love you. It will be my mission to let you know that every day that we’re together.”

It was my turn to cry. “I know you do. I’ve always known it. I love you, too. I’ve never been able to make a real connection with someone before. You’re my only one.” 

“Only one?” John ended our embrace and sat back against a back sofa cushion.

“Yes. Only.”

“What about Ire…?”

“No one. Not her, not Janine. No one. Zero people. No one’s ever wanted me like this. Most people can barely stand being in my presence for more than a few minutes.”

“And as you’ve said, most people are idiots. Including me at varying points in our acquaintance.”

“Never like them. Not once.”

“So, are you interested in our relationship becoming romantic?”

“I believe I mentioned that earlier. Hence why we're practically on each others’ laps at this moment.”

“Are you interested in our relationship being of a physical nature?”

“I have never been more interested in anything in the entirety of my life.”

“How would you feel about that second part happening sooner rather than later?”

“We should take advantage of having the flat to ourselves. That would be the practical way to approach this solitude.”

“I love it when you talk all smart to me. Rawr.” John got his arms around my back and lifted me onto his lap.

“Shouldn’t we eat first? I’m told that sexual activity can be very energy-consuming.”

“I’m also discovering I like it when you mix science in with sexy talk. That’s hitting buttons I didn’t even know I had available for pressing.”

“I’ll call in a Chinese if you’ll go get it. Also, we might be needing some supplies. For tonight. Or so I’ve been led to believe.” I could feel a blush start at the base of my neck as it rose to my ears. 

“I know just the things. You stay here and wait for me. I’ll be back in a tic. Don’t start without me.” He kissed my lips with tenderness for the first time then, and a tremor radiated across my entire body. John was going to buy us things to use to have sex. Tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

I couldn’t believe I was walking to Tesco to buy supplies to have sex with Sherlock. Tonight. Sherlock texted me to tell me the Chinese would be ready by the time I was done at the shop. I had a bounce to my step that had been lacking for a very long time. We’d finally done it. We talked about it. Things that had been hovering over us for years. Talking wasn’t going to be a magical cure to everything, but it sure had been a step in the right direction. 

I left Tesco with a bag full of things that made the checkout attendant blush. I walked in the direction of the restaurant to pick up Sherlock’s and my dinner. As I strode along, I felt as though something wasn’t quite right. That nagging sense that someone is watching you. My shoulders dropped, and I turned on the pavement. “Yes? May I help you?” There was a large black sedan that sidled up beside me. Before it had the chance to come to a complete stop, the back passenger door opened and there was Mycroft. 

I bent forward to peer inside the car: “Hello! Long time no see! And what is the reason you’re following me today?”

“Good evening, John.” He gestured for me to enter the car so I did. The driver went off in the direction of the restaurant. I wasn’t even surprised. I set my purchase down beside me, but made sure the Durex label was visible. 

“John? This must be serious. You very rarely call me anything besides Doctor Watson if you deign to address me at all.”

“It’s come to my attention that your relationship with my brother has taken a rather sudden, if not predictable turn.”

“Predictable?” I constantly fight the urge to punch him in the throat.

“Your friend Cara is not the only person to have deduced your feelings for my brother, or his feelings for you.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you’ve been privy to this piece of information the whole time and never said? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“I’ve warned my brother, repeatedly, to avoid sentiment. You know that he’s not made the same way as I.”

“You mean programmed like you. He’s not a robot. He feels things.”

“I do as well, but have mastered how to present them to others.”

“Not to me, you umbrella-toting prat! You love Sherlock more than just about anyone, and it’s all over your face. Even if your face often looks like you’re suffering through a bout of constipation.” The urge to spew childish barbs at Mycroft never wavers or diminishes. 

That actually drew a pinched laugh from Mycroft. I’d yet to see the man laugh at something I’d said. He would usually laugh at my or Sherlock’s expense. Preferably at something the both of us were involved with so he’d only have to laugh once. He acted as though he had to pay a fee anytime he wasn’t being a posh, pompous, twat. 

“If we could keep this civil, John? I know where you’ve been and I know where you’re going. I want you to know that what you are planning to do with my brother this evening is a road on which he has never before travelled.”

“We’ve discussed that. I’ll keep this conversation of ours private. I’m sure he would rather not know that his older brother was waffling on about his virginity.”

“The purpose of my visit was to not embarrass him. I wanted to let you know that I trust you with my brother’s heart. If that point doesn’t mean anything to you, it means something to me.”

“Are you trying to give me your blessing to be in a romantic relationship with Sherlock?” The Holmes siblings never failed to astound me. 

“When you say it that way, it sounds trite.”

“Good. It’s not only me thinking that, then.” 

We sat across from each other for the next three minutes as Mycroft’s driver weaved their way in and out of London’s evening rush traffic. As we slowed to a stop, I reached for my Tesco bag, opened the door and climbed out the pavement. I wanted to just saunter away, but I couldn’t. My feet wouldn’t let me. 

“As much shit as I give you, Mycroft, your opinion of me does matter. You love him and have his best interest at the centre of you. I’m glad that you finally see that we’re both on the same page with this situation.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen your way here, as well. It’s certainly taken you long enough.”

“I’m going to take that for the compliment it was intended to be and ignore that you just called me stupid in a roundabout way. Again.”

“Have a good evening, John. Be good to each other.”

I closed the car’s door and the vehicle moved seamlessly back into traffic. I straightened my back as I approached the restaurant’s door. It was symbolic, I guess, looking back on it. 

***********************************

I jogged up the stairs to the flat twenty minutes later and pushed the door in with my foot. 

“Sherlock? I’m home?” Christ, that felt good to say. I dropped the bag of food on the table next to Sherlock’s current, non-corrosive experiment. He promised me he’d keep all of the dangerous testings out of the flat since Rosie and I moved back. No more hazardous waste in the flat, either. How had I not see his love before today?

“Sherlock?” I called out to him as I made my way down the hall to his bedroom. I tapped against the pushed-around door. “Are you in here? Can I come in?”

“Yes, John. Of course.”

I’ll never forget this for the rest of my life. He was lying in bed, his back propped against the headboard, his bedclothes pulled to the top of his abdomen. He had his hands folded across his belly and looked like he was no older than twenty. He was wearing a soft, dark-grey cotton vest, and (after further investigation) a pair of snug black pants. 

“Well. Don’t you look comfortable? Lying about while I had to do the shopping and pick up our food!” I leant against the door frame. 

“Speaking of, where is, um, everything?”

"Would you like to eat in here?" I shuffled my feet. 

“That sounds lovely. There’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator if you’d like to have a bit while we eat.”

I think he  _ needed _ the wine more than he actually  _ wanted _ it. I could see his fingers were turning white in their own grasp. He was nervous. Anything to assuage him. 

“Sure! Here’s the Tesco bag; feel free to poke about in there. I’ll be right back with the food!”

I flung the bag at him and it landed by his knees. I heard him digging around in it as I turned to make my way back to the kitchen. Best to let him be with its contents alone so he wouldn't be self-conscious. 

I grabbed everything we needed and made my way back to him. He was holding up the two packs of condoms and reading the backs of the boxes. He’d apparently already read the backs of the three bottles of lube I’d purchased, as they now laid against his upper thighs.

“I wanted size variety in case we didn’t know which of us was going to be doing what. And we don’t even need to do that, by the way.” I wasn’t picky. (I’m still not, by the way.)

“Your commitment to my comfort during this endeavour is very charming, John.”

“Wait until later tonight.”

I waggled my eyebrows at him, and a bit of his tension released as he laughed. His fingers loosened their grip on each other and I made my way further into the room and then pushed the door closed behind me. No sense in giving Mrs Hudson any more ammunition to hurl about when she next saw us. 

I poured us each a glass of wine; I set mine down on the night table next to Sherlock's bed and handed him his own glass. He swirled it around as he dug through the bag of food. 

I started to sit, and he spoke, not even glancing towards me: “You can get a bit more comfortable, if you’d like. It’d be nice to eat here with you.” 

I smirked and proceeded to disrobe, stopping when I‘d reached my white vest and dark blue pants. We were both in the same amount of clothes. That would hopefully make Sherlock feel a bit less vulnerable. 

I moved to sit beside him on top of his duvet and he lifted it before I could settle down on it. My eyes grew wide at the implication but I did as I was silently beckoned.  

He thrust the box of shrimp lo mein into my hands, a fork already stabbed in the noodles. He kept the beef fried rice. I was not surprised. We ate and drank in comfortable silence, but the potential of the rest of the evening seemed to be crackling in the air around us. 

“Could I have a bit of that?” I asked, as innocently as I could.

“I suppose so.” 

He made to tip the box of rice towards me to dig into it myself, but I just opened my mouth and waited. 

“John?”

A bit of intimacy to get things started: “It’s okay, Sherlock.”

He swallowed hard and dug his fork in his rice and presented me with it. I leant forward and accepted the rice onto my tongue.

“Ooooh. That’s good. I can see why you wanted to keep that for yourself.” I winked at him. 

“John?” I pretended I didn’t hear the question he kept trying to ask me. 

“I’m pretty stuffed right now. How about you?”

He nodded but kept his forehead down. I set my own food on the night table and moved a bit closer to him. I took his rice and set it down beside my food. “Okay if I put my arm around you?”

“Of course.” His attempt at cavalier was amusing. 

“Oh, get over here. You’re not fooling me!”

I got my left arm around him and he settled his head on top of my shoulder. I turned and got a nose-full of curls.

“Your shampoo smells even better this close.” He pushed the top of his head into my neck, snuggling in. He was too precious for me and always would be. We stayed that way for a few minutes and I could feel his body softening against me. Big, sleepy git.

How about a kip, yeah? Our bellies are full and it’s been a big day. I spent most of mine outside in the sunshine.” I pressed him tighter to my side. 

“That sounds lovely, John.” He stirred enough to snuffle his face against the skin that was uncovered by my vest and he sat up. We shimmied down together and settled; me on my back, as usual, and Sherlock on his right side; his head on my left pec and his left arm across my stomach. His hair was so soft. He was asleep in less than a minute.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

We dozed for over an hour.

I woke first and held him against me as he slept. I looked down at his face as he rested. Forever a Holmes, he must’ve felt my attention. As he blinked himself back to wakefulness, I rubbed his chest and belly over his vest. “Hi. Did you sleep well?” He seemed unfazed by the motion of my hand, but he sighed contentedly. I dared to go higher, across his nipples. I felt them harden under my hand. 

“Is what I’m doing all right?” I didn’t want to put him off, but I also wanted to put my hands on him. 

“Perfectly acceptable.” The reaction of his body belied the bullshit he was attempting to sling. 

“I’m very glad to hear that, Sherlock.” I looked up at the ceiling and smiled. 

I continued to smooth my hand across his chest as he laid there, absorbing my affection. After a few moments I said:

"How about we sit up and you lean back against me, yeah?"

“That sounds fine.”

He was so formal. In Sherlock language, that translated to him feeling a bit shy. Time to take the bull by the horns, so to speak.

I let go of him and got myself back to sitting, and Sherlock did the same, but he sat between my thighs and then leant back against my chest. I’ve had many lovers. I have never felt this way about any of them.

He pushed his shoulders back against my chest and settled. I got both of my arms around him this time and started the sweeping strokes I’d been doing a minute ago. I let him get used to the sensations he was most likely feeling for the first time in his life. To go over forty years without this sort of affection made my heart hurt for him.

“Sherlock? Would you like to take off your shirt?” He pondered my question for a few seconds.

“Only if you do as well.” I patted his belly as my affirmation. He sat up and tugged off his own shirt and I did the same. As he did so, I again saw the scars that littered his back. I’d seen them before when I’d temporarily moved back into the flat to take care of him after Mary’d shot him. He glossed over how he’d obtained them. I’d never forgotten. I hope someday he trusts me enough to tell me what happened to him while he was away. 

He leant back against me and settled again. 

“You’re so warm, John.” 

“Too hot, Sherlock?” Please say no. Please say no.

“Never.” Victory was mine. 

We laid that way for a long time. I could feel myself dozing until Sherlock’s right hand curled around my right wrist. He began to slowly push my hand lower until my fingers reached the top of the waistband of his pants. 

“You sure?”

“The surest I’ve ever been about anything.”

I scratched my nails through the curled hair that was redder than I’d imagined it to be. Sherlock moaned. I felt it through his body; his back vibrated with it. It cascaded through my own body and settled hot in my groin. My hips involuntarily pushed forward, and he moaned again.

“Do you want to?”

“I want everything, John. Anything you want.” 

“Could you reach a bottle of lubricant for me?

Sherlock slapped his left hand around the bed and I saw the bottles of lube that he’d placed there earlier bounce about the mattress. His hand settled on one and he passed it back to me. I removed my hand from his and squirted a bit on my left hand. 

“If you want me to stop, just say so. I’m up for anything or nothing at all.”

“I’ve wanted your hands on me for years. I will never tell you to stop.” I kissed his hair and helped him slide his pants down his thighs until I couldn’t see them anymore. I reached for his length and found it already hard.

“Oh, Sherlock. You’re so lovely.” I positioned my fingers in a loose grip and I circled them around his length and I started with a gentle but firm stroke. After the fourth pass, his whole body twitched in my arms.

“Oh God, John. Oh, John. Yes, John. Yes.” I’d never heard him say my name that way before. I was already addicted to the way it sounded. 

“You feel so good, Sherlock. You in my arms, your cock in my hand. I love you so much.” He whimpered. I kept up the pace, but not wanting it to end too soon. His inexperience could’ve lead to that situation having a premature end.

“Do you think you’re close, Sherlock?”

“I’m not exactly sure. I’ve never had anyone’s hand on me like this before tonight and I don’t indulge myself very often. My addictive personality could’ve made this more important than the work. But right now, I don’t give a shit about our work.”

Our work. The man made my lungs stop working.

“John? If you’d like to try, would you like to have sex with me tonight?

**_Would I like to try?_ **

My lungs cooperated at last. “Oh, there is nothing I would like more than to do that with you right now.” I let go of his erection with reluctance. I put my hands on his back and lifted him a bit to give him the hint. I slipped out from underneath him and made him comfortable on the mattress. I climbed back on the bed and crawled over him and laid myself on top of him. His hand immediately went to my backside.

“Off! Off right now!”

His fingers scrabbled at my pants and I laughed against his chest as he fought with the elastic. I got to my elbows and let him slide them down to the middle of my thighs and he got a foot between my knees and used his toes to get them down the rest of the way. I felt his body jerk under me and hear the swish of fabric landing on the floor. I eased myself back on top of him. We were naked together at last.

I pushed my hips along his and our cocks slid together, a mixture of the lube I’d used on him and the drippings of our combined precome giving us a delicious slide. I’ve never felt such unadulterated bliss. 

“John? Please.” His eyes were dampened and the entire top half of his body was crimson.

“All right, sweetheart. Let me have one of those condoms on the table, all right?” He reached a long arm towards the night table and was able to procure one of the boxes. He didn’t even look at what he was doing. He ripped the box open with his teeth and tore one loose from the strip. He pressed it into my hands but didn’t let go until I looked in his eyes.

“I trust you. I want this.”

That was all I needed to hear. 

I sat back on my heels and bent both of his legs at the knee and placed his feet flat against the bed. I reached across him and got one of his many pillows and tapped at his hip. He lifted himself from the bed, and I stuffed the pillow between his hips and the mattress. He sunk down against it and just stared at me, his eyes wide, sweat on his chest and his face. His hair was a bit wet at his hairline. I poured a bit more lube onto my left hand’s fingers. 

“I’m going to get you ready for me, okay? Just relax.” I circled his opening with my slicked fingers and massaged him there for a few seconds while I watched him take deep breaths. I pressed my index finger inside him when he appeared to be ready. His hole swallowed my finger. 

“Holy shit. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m all right, although that’s not quite the word I’d use to describe this.”

“Let me just get a bit more lube inside before we keep going, yeah?”

He nodded with decisiveness. I poured a bit more directly on his hole and my fingers and spread it inside him. 

“Johhhhhhhn!”

“Okay, sweetheart. I think you’re ready now.”

I held the base of the condom packet between my lips, making sure my teeth were nowhere near it and used my lube-less hand to tear it open. I spit the wrapper to the floor and slid the condom over my cock. More lube. There could never be too much lube. If I hurt him I’d never forgive myself. 

“Ready, love?” He blinked up at me; his gaze sex-drunk. 

Sherlock lifted his legs and tucked them against my hips and then I pushed inside him. 

***************************************

John was inside me. 

He pushed inside with short thrusts, to stretch me enough so he wouldn’t hurt me. I clung to him, as I’d twisted my legs across his lower back, and dug my nails into his shoulders.

“You all right? Am I hurting you?” I could see him struggling to maintain control over his transport. 

“No, John. you’re not hurting me at all. I think you’re making everything better.”

He smiled at me, tears in his eyes, and kissed my chest. 

I couldn’t constrain the sounds he elicited from me. 

“Hang on, love. Let me make this a bit better for you.”

_ There was a way to make it better?  _

He dug his knees under my thighs and got his arms under my back. He was clutching me as tightly as I’d been holding him. His belly was dragging along my penis with every push and retreat. I’d been a frequent user of illegal and illicit substances in my past. None of them felt as good as this. 

After a particularly well-positioned thrust, my neck bent backwards and pushed against the pillow under my head. 

“John! Oh God, John!” 

“I knew I’d find it! If we were at my office at the surgery, I’d have found that for you much sooner!” He nipped at my right nipple and then:

He laughed. He laughed while we were having sex and the sound he made was almost as wonderful as the feelings and sensations he was wringing out of me.  

As I laid there, wishing I knew more of what I was supposed to do, it dawned on me that he’d taken this situation and the lead along with it. He knew how anxious I’d been, how unsure of myself I was, and he’d taken it upon himself to lead us here. 

“John, I love you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I love you so much.” 

I am so glad that I’d never let anyone else touch me this way before tonight. It’s almost as though I knew whoever came before John wouldn’t have been the right person. 

His aim was unerring. Every thrust of his hips bumped my prostate. I wanted to tell him to slow down, but I also wanted him to push me over. I dug my nails deeper into the flesh of his shoulders and pulled him against me.

“John. I’m sorry. I don’t think my body will be able to hold on much longer.”

“It’s okay, love. I want you to come first. I want to feel that happen to you while you’re in my arms.”

At that, I gave him his wish.

Somehow, he was able to hold my weight and his own as the top half of my body rose from the bed, my neck thrown back in ecstasy. John held me as I spasmed and trembled in his grasp. 

“Breathe, Sherlock. It’ll last longer if you can breathe through it.” He kissed my chin as he sped up his thrusts, driving against my prostate to prolong my pleasure. 

“John please.” He knew what I wanted. 

I laid back against the bed and he lifted my right leg over his shoulder and then he re-tightened his arms around the small of my back. His pace picked up significantly, and I clenched around him as I came back to myself, wanting to do something for him to at least be able to claim I’d participated in that moment. 

“I want you to, John. Please. Come, John.”

He cried out against my chest and I felt him pulse inside me. I couldn’t help but think about how that would feel when there wasn’t a barrier between us. He thrust four more times, taking his own advice and inhaling and exhaling gulping breaths. He was too tired for a fifth and collapsed on top of me. 

“Are you all right?” He managed to gasp out the endearing question against the sweat on my neck.

I slid my leg down from his shoulder and crossed my ankles at the top of the back of his thighs. 

“I can’t think of an instance when I’ve ever felt better.”

“Careful. I might get used to compliments like that. Especially from you.” He kissed my neck again and I was then able to understand why intimacy makes people do terrible things. If someone were to try and take him away from me, I think I could murder them. If someone were to try and bring harm to Rosamund, I could kill them. With my bare hands. I never understood those types of feelings until John helped me to feel them. The instinct to protect them, to protect us, had become so primal inside of me.

“If you change your mind, I think that will kill me.” I hoped I wasn’t ruining the mood.

“Well, it’s a good thing that I have absolutely zero intentions of doing that. I want you alive for the rest of my life. I don’t want to spend a second without you in it.” Leave it to John to save the atmosphere. 

He got his breath back then and tapped me so I’d let him go. With reluctance, I released him. He sat on his heels and pulled off and tied the condom and made a fantastic throw and it sailed into the rubbish bin. He found his own pants tangled in the sheets and wiped at the ejaculate on my stomach before lying down beside me. 

“I think I’m hungry again,” he said in my right ear, but made no move to leave me behind to go to the kitchen. 

“Later, John. I’ll feed you up later. Stay here with me for a bit.” 

“I’d rather you loved me up, to be honest.” 

We settled into the reverse of our earlier sleeping positions: I was on my back and John was lying across me. I got my left hand in his hair and stroked it as he fell asleep against me. I can still feel how contented I was that first night even now.

We slept through the night. I woke with John pressed to my back; his left leg across my calves. I heard a bit of commotion downstairs. I heard Mrs Hudson open the main door to the house and a sudden burst of activity as she closed the door behind the visitors.

As John slept on, I could hear voices at the base of the staircase:

“Let’s get you upstairs so you can see your dads, love!”

Her name is Cara and I’ll always be grateful to her. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please press kudos. If you really liked it, I'd love a comment! If you bookmark, I love you!!!
> 
> If you're wondering why there's less preparation in the penetrative sex scenes, these two links will explain. Nothing like having a few gay men tell it like it really is to make you reevaluate your writing technique!
> 
> https://reverie-indigo.livejournal.com/5686.html
> 
> https://www.squidge.org/minotaur/classic/eroc.html?fbclid=IwAR1eb-9SAzTwcrySDBvPAytSlABYeUuw-JhBIqOYZyEXV0veCiHA0JANe10
> 
> Come find me on Twitter https://twitter.com/ldystnly  
> and on Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/johnyouareamazingyouarefantastic


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